Gellert Grindelwald: For The Greater Good
by Mevolent
Summary: He destroyed armies; he shattered continents. He loved, lost and killed. He was a great philosopher, a powerful wizard - an intellectual genius. He was feared and worshipped by many. He sought Death's own Hallows. His name was Gellert Grindelwald...and this is his story.


**Gellert Grindelwald**

Chapter 1: The Duel

**The Duel**

**Berlin, (1945)**

The sky was alight with power, and the great city burned.

It was illuminated by the forks of lightening streaking down from the heavens and the orange explosions of artillery fire as the AA Guns targeted enemy aircraft; streets were blackened by scorches of explosions, hollowed out ruins of houses decorating them in a haphazardly manner, and the road looking as if it had been torn up by rampaging tribe of giants in a fit of anger, exposing the sewage and filthy creatures that inhabited it; the bodies of men wearing purple robes were scattered across the scene, like children's toys discarded in boredom, their eyes vacant and unknowing.

_It's quite fascinating what you can do to a corps of fully trained aurors with a bit of power and an extensive knowledge of dark curses, _thought Gellert idly, surveying the ruined street as he walked down it, his robes fluttering behind him in the breeze.

Even if you did not know who he was, Gellert Grindelwald was a rather impressive sight. He was taller than most men with broad shoulders, a straight back and long, tapered fingers that were perfect for wrapping around a wand. If you took a look at him you would think he was thirty, rather than more than twice that age. He had luxurious blond hair and blue eyes colder than the heart of winter; eyes that, similarly to his only equal, seemed to dissect your soul. Added to the fact that he was an extremely powerful wizard who exuded an aura of strength and confidence, it was not surprising that many wizards were terrified of his mere presence.

At the moment he wore a trailing blue robe as he strolled down the street, casually blasting ruined tanks out of his way. _My empire is crumbling,_ he thought, fingers tightening around his wand. _Were had all went wrong?_

He had been doing excellently when he had first been voted in as Chancellor of Magic in Germany. In the space of 6 years he had brought down almost every ministry throughout Europe, sweeping through them like Fiendfyre consuming a forest. They hadn't stood a chance. Another thing that helped was that his muggle counterpart at the time was a warmongering madman. His madness made him easier to manipulate, though Gellert did not have to do it very often. Just a few subtle hints here and there about what country to invade and what group of gypsies to avoid persecuting, as a large number of the gypsies were actually wizards.

During the year of 1942, he was at the height of his power, with legions of Aurors and Dark wizards to command. He had all the European ministries other than Russia and Britain under his thumb and, to his delight, Albus had not intervened. Things were looking better than ever.

And then it had all ended.

The Russian ministry had suddenly launched an attack on the north east of his rule during the winter of 1943, crippling his control in that area with their surprising swiftness and ferocity. Almost simultaneously, the British and Americans had both signed a peace treaty with Russia. Slowly but surely, his territories in the north east began to fall and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Then the British had launched an unexpected attack in the heart of the French Ministry in 1944, led by Albus Dumbledore himself. The attack was so quick and well-executed that by the time he learnt of it, it was all over. After France had been 'liberated' , they started pushing forward from both the east and the west, squeezing his control until, finally, it burst, his once formidable army scattering until only a few hundred loyal wizards were left.

Soon after, he had received word that his Italian allies in the south had been defeated. Since that moment onwards, it seemed that he only received bad news. In a few short months his empire that he had vested so much time and effort into creating was undone. The real blow was when he had received word that they were sieging Berlin. Gellert knew that it was truly lost when they had the nerve to attack his capital. Dumbledore, who was now the commander of the 'Free' ministries as they were calling themselves now, would only have attacked if he was assured of victory.

And this was why he was patrolling the streets, taking out his anger on vehicles and a couple of stray pigeons unfortunate enough to get in his way. He filled himself with his power, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he did so. Everything seemed _more_ somehow: the colours more vibrant, the sounds more crisp and the scents around him more potent.

But only a fool or a madman would want to feel those things more clearly when all the colours you could see were grey, black and a horrible blossoming orange as an aircraft of some type exploded overhead or when the only sounds were the rumble of thunder, the screams of men, gunfire and explosions. When the only smells were the charred flesh of the Auror division he had just destroyed, the burnt oil from exposed car engines and rotting sewage waste.

A muffled groan made him stop in his tracks and turn around to look for the source of noise. After casting an advanced detection spell, he determined that that there was a human male nearby and they were not under an invisibility cloak or concealed magically. Gellert held the 'skills' of Aurors in contempt, and he did not believe that any of them were capable of casting a moderately powerful disillusion spell, but it never hurt to check. He had learnt through years of hard experience that caution is a dark wizard's best friend.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to detect if the person had an aura or not. It was a very difficult branch of magic: You could count the amount of people who could sense auras in the world in one hand without using every finger and, unless you had natural talent, it took decades of study and practise to even attempt detecting. But if someone knows a magical discipline, it is almost guaranteed that Gellert could do it better.

Feeling around the area with a tendril of power, his mind's eye identified an aura nearby that pulsed white and blue, contrasting with the now blurred and darkened landscape. The colour of someone's aura depends on how they use their magic – for good, evil and everything in between. Brightness of the aura represents the amount of power that the wizard possess

Judging from the colour and brightness, Gellert discerned that he was probably an auror who had survived his ambush. Grinning maliciously before resuming a stoic expression, he levitated the ruined car away from where he sensed it. To his delight, he found the battered and bloody body of a young auror who looked like he was just fresh from the training academy.

_Unlucky boy,_ thought Gellert with a small amount of what might have been pity as he levitated the Auror into mid-air and bound him in ropes with a flick of his wand. Awakened, the auror struggled to raise his blood-streaked head and tried to look at him in the eyes, showing confusion and relief as they met, before his eyes focused. He gasped silently, awe and terror evident in his face.

Gellert smiled at him before asking, "Who are you?". His tone was educated; smooth.

The man was shaking in what was clearly terror. "J-Joseph Nott."

"What was your division's purpose?" he hissed suddenly, looming over the young wizard and radiating magic that burned the air, crackling with power and malevolence. There had to have been a reason that they had ambushed him without back-up, unless their commander was arrogant enough to think that they could take him down.

To his credit, the man gave a rather weak and futile attempt at resistance by saying in a quavering voice, "I won't tell you! You'll have t-to…" he trailed of, hacking and coughing up blood.

Gellert waited politely for the man's fit to subside before he said in a tone of absolute certainty, "Then I will take the information off you. And there is nothing you can do about it. So why don't you spare yourself pain by telling me?"

The auror remained silent, weakly struggling in his bonds and glaring at him in feeble defiance. _Fool, _Gellert thought with scorn.

"Very well," Gellert said with a smile, pocketing his wand, "Your choice." As Gellert looked him in the eyes, his smile suddenly turned cruel. The auror barely had time to think that this was the first genuine smile he had seen before a blade of thought, honed to an almost infinitesimal point, pierced into the man's mind and battered aside his feeble Occulemency defences.

After a few moments of rummaging in the dark, labyrinthine corridors, he found what he was looking for: the division of aurors that he had eliminated were gathered in a large, high ceilinged room, seated at a semi-circular table where a hard eyed man read from a sheaf of documents. Gellert concentrated, the words crashing over him in a jumble of sounds and sensations that clashed with the ones he was experiencing in life.

Due to this confusing situation, Gellert only caught a few sentences…_Use invasion force as distraction…Find the Dark Lord…Subdue if possible but eliminate if unable…primary objective: delay him and allow Dumbledore to arrive undetected…take out Grindelwald._

Gellert withdrew from the boy's mind in rage, violently ripping apart his mental defences. He stormed away and tried to apparate from the street and the dazed auror, only to find that he was unable.

_Blasted anti-apparition wards! _Thought Gellert furiously, his vision turning red. How _dare_ those pathetic aurors even attempt to apprehend him! Against him, the most powerful dark lord to have ever lived!

He turned towards the auror, who visibly tried to shrink back from his gaze. Gellert gave him a look of absolute hatred and the auror's eyes rolled back in his head as he sagged in his bonds.

"_Ennervate"_ he spat, jabbing his wand at the unconscious auror who jolted awake. _This puny, mindless worm will feel my anger! _Thought Gellert as he raised his wand. As it fell, red light flashed and struck the auror, who screamed and writhed in what Gellert knew to be unimaginable agony. Gellert held the curse for a couple more seconds before lifting it, leaving the man panting on the ground. He promptly banished the auror into a crumbling wall, sending him crashing through it.

Turning away, Gellert started a brisk walk towards what he assumed to be the edge of the wards, vague feeling of shame washing over him. He shouldn't have done that. As he neared the edge he slowed down, walking leisurely towards the boundary.

He stepped outside and tried to apparate._ It's been trans-dimensionally extended, _Gellert realised as it failed to work yet again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement. He turned around slowly, not reaching for his wand as he faced the intruder.

This new man wore flowing blue robes and had a long auburn beard that was tucked into his belt. He was as tall as Gellert, with a long nose that looked like it had been broken and twinkling blue eyes behind a pair of half-moon spectacles. He also radiated an aura like Gellert, though his was subtler and more calming. Albus Dumbledore stood tall in front of him, his hands behind his back and the wind playing with his robes.

"Good evening, Gellert," he said in a very relaxed, deep voice. "You look well for a man whose empire is crumbling."

Gellert raised an eyebrow, looking as if he had all the time in the world before saying in an amused tone, "_Crumbling_, Albus? My true empire is the ideology. While I live, the Greater Good shall never be destroyed." He smiled. "Or is that what you are here to prevent? Well, the initial attack has failed – forgive me if I say so, but a poor tactical error on your part." He finished by gesturing to the burnt and broken bodies of the elite wizards.

Dumbledore looked over at the bodies of the men with a sorrowful, yet oddly…resigned expression? Gellert studied him for a few moments before a smile slowly grew on his face as he said, "You knew this would happen to them, didn't you? And yet you let them go to their deaths…"

The new lines that showed in Dumbledore's face told Gellert everything he needed to know.

Dumbledore looked very weary and worn. "I was opposed to the plan from the moment it was devised. They underestimated your prodigious skill, power and intellect. I surmised that you would suspect a trap, and I know better than anyone how difficult you are to…contain, for want of a better term."

Gellert sneered . "The stupidity and arrogance they had to actually believe that they could capture me is appalling. As for delaying me, well, they didn't last a minute! Sorry excuses for 'dark wizard catchers' aren't they?"

Dumbledore looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face before saying in a quiet voice, "You've changed my friend. I don't think you really believe in the Greater Good any longer."

Gellert let out a deep, rich laugh that echoed around the empty street. Dumbledore stood calmly as he waited for the gales of laughter to subside.

Still chuckling slightly, Gellert replied, "Of course I still do! I've_ always_ believed that. Do you really believe that I would do all this for wealth? Glory? _Evil_? Even as I am hated and reviled at the moment, one day the world will look back and admire the sacrifices and struggles of Gellert Grindelwald - the greatest and most selfless wizard to have ever lived. The man that saved all of wizard kind."

"I could present speeches of counter- arguments and the flaws of the greater good, as we had in Godric's Hollow, but I feel that we are getting a little off track here. The ultimatum has been given, Gellert: surrender and face justice, or I will be forced to arrest you," Dumbledore said, stepping backwards to give them space.

Gellert gave a sly smile before replying, drawing a wand, made of grey elder wood with the core of a thestral's hair as he said triumphantly, "Arrest me while I possess _thi_s?! I have found it, Albus. I am now master of the Elder wand!"

Dumbledore's slightly condescending expression didn't change. "There have always been rumours, Gellert. I'm not particularly surprised." He sighed, shaking his head and drawing his own wand as he said heavily, "There is nothing I can do to dissuade you? No action I can undertake to convince you of the folly of your actions?"

Gellert shook his head, "No. I'm commited, Albus. Are you?" He could feel the moment approaching; a storm the likes of which the world had never seen.

_So it begins, _he thought solemnly.

For a moment it seemed that the breeze and the distant sounds of war stopped, as if to hold their breath in anticipation of what was about to happen . Everything was silent.

Then Gellert struck, his wand blurring in a sweeping arc as he spun gracefully out of the way of the spell he knew would have hit him if he hadn't have moved. Sure enough, a bright yellow spell flew right through the empty space that he had been occupying just a few moments ago as Gellert finished the wand movement, firing of a flesh disintegration curse. He quickly followed it up by shooting off an impressive barrage of dark spells at Dumbledore.

The blasted man conjured rocks of granite to intercept all of them save the last that Gellert had fired at the area that Dumbledore was standing on at an incredible speed, forcing him to hastily conjure a powerful golden shield.

The black spell, the Nightmare Curse, smashed into the shield with incredible force and broke it, sending Dumbledore reeling backwards. Gellert studied his wand while Dumbledore tried to recover, a greedy smile forming on his face. The legendary power of the Elder wand was no myth; overpowering one of Dumbledore's shields was not something he was sure he could do without it.

He sent a powerful _Confringo_ at Dumbledore, who deflected it into a wall that exploded when it was hit with the curse, bricks spraying outwards. Dumbledore then summoned huge gout of water from his wand and propelled it as though shot from a cannon at Gellert, who conjured a roaring stream of Fiendfyre that flew upwards into the sky like a pillar of flame that walled off the water and turned it to steam when touched.

He then manipulated the fire, sending it into the air as it took the form of a massive basilisk that hissed with a tongue of fire as it dived down towards Dumbledore. At the last moment, Gellert surprised the other man when he slashed his wand and split the basilisk in two before condensing it and redirecting it back as a huge, rolling wave of fire that seemed a mile high and wide towards the other wizard.

Dumbledore responded by whirling his wand and sending a tornado of air in the opposite direction that caught the fire, sending the both of the elements into the air as it became a swirling firestorm that uprooted trees, obliterating and incinerating them. Gellert and Dumbledore then started to trade blows, firing curses, countering them, deflecting them, using shields to protect themselves from the dangerous spells and releasing their entire arsenal of magic against their opponent.

This seemed to last for hours and they both did not notice that there were people, wizards if their clothing was any indication, watching who were too awed and terrified to interfere.

This display of knowledge reached his climax when Gellert deflected a powerful and well-aimed bludgeoning curse back at Dumbledore before whispering, "_Aractus Empi"._

Gellert had found and recovered many ancient spells and magical artefacts when he had been travelling the world and while visiting many obscure magical monuments and temples. He had discovered this particular spell when exploring the jungles of South America, etched into a tablet found inside a very well hidden chamber. It was a very useful spell, and the only one he knew of that could ignite a similar version of _priori incantatem, _though without the annoying side effects. It was excellent for defeating skilled opponents by overwhelming them with his power when the magical phenomenon was initiated, though this probably would be useless against Dumbledore - he was at least as powerful as Gellert himself.

As the reflected bludgeoning spell ricocheted of Dumbledore's shield, Dumbldedore was momentarily blinded by the light given off as the spell bounced off the shield. Therefore, he was unprepared when a deep, dark bolt of purple lightning streaked from Gellert's wand at an incredible speed and crashed into Dumbledore's shield, fracturing it and weakening him as he tried to reinforce it.

The lightening crackled and pulsed against the shield, the stream being maintained by Gellert whose face was contorted in a rictus snarl. He concentrated, giving a surge of energy through the stream. Dumbledore was struggling to maintain the broken shield and this last surge of energy proved too much for him to contain. The lightening forked through the shield and shattered it, striking Dumbledore and lifting him off his feet to land painfully against a crumbling wall.

Gellert eyes blazed triumphantly as he sent several killing curses at Dumbledore, confident that he was victorious. Dumbledore suddenly rose from the ground, his previously crumpled body erecting itself as he twirled his wand and transfigured a nearby car into a huge block of steel that cracked and shattered under the power of Gellert's killing curses. As it exploded, several white and gold spells shot from within, forcing Gellert to deflect them and making him lose his short-lived advantage.

As Gellert batted away the spells, Dumbledore waved his wand and three huge stone golems rose out of the ground before they started lumbering towards Gellert. He roared in rage as one of them stamped the ground powerfully, the vibrations making him fall over as the other two moved in to restrain him. Gellert pointed his wand at the nearest one and shouted, "_Transmogrifian!"_ The golem fell to the ground, its hands attacking its body as it tried to pull itself apart, writhing on the ground. Gellert destroyed the other with a very powerful bludgeoning curse and spun around - just to be struck by Albus' flame whip.

Staggering slightly, his chest searing in whtite-hot pain, Gellert flung out his arms with a scream of rage, releasing a powerful pulse of magic that obliterated the remaining golem that was making its way towards him and made Dumbledore fall to the ground, before he created another fiery whip and lashed out at Gellert who transfigured it into a snake, enlarging it using _Engorgio_ and banishing it towards his nemesis.

Dumbledore expertly vanished it and responded with a spell that uprooted the ground under Gellert. He sprang in the air using the featherweight charm and sent a steady stream of spells at Dumbledore while he flew that kept him occupied before he landed back on the ground, his robes swirling around him impressively.

Gellert raised his wand to the heavens as he summoned its power, the endless carpet of grey and black clouds in the sky swirling above him like a meteorological vortex. He manipulated the elements skilfully, releasing lightening down upon Dumbledore in huge quantities.

_It's so much easier to direct the strikes, rather than forcing them down_, he thought, feeling pride in his ability as he watched Dumbledore's brow furrow concentration as he erected a dome of power around him, a shimmering, crackling white egg of pure energy, shielding him from the hail of bolts that were streaking from the skies. The ground around him turned scorched and blackened as the blots struck the dome, but he remained unharmed.

Gellert couldn't help but be slightly impressed at his old friend's mastery of magic._ He has indeed grown more dangerous, _he thought as he casually deflected a fireball the size of a horse away from him, watching as it crashed into a building and smashed it apart, an inferno of fire and brick billowing outwards from its now ruined skeleton like a wave of death.

Gellert drew strength from the raging flames, forming a thick tentacle of Fiendfyre as he directed it towards Dumbledore, who backed away from the intense heat of the flames. Dumbledore drew his wand back and Gellert felt a surge of energy from him as he pointed towards the galloping chimeras of fire. The Fiendfyre exploded in a burst of magical energy, destroying the nearby houses. The on looking wizards were thrown to the ground by the backlash but Dumbledore and Gellert's more than considerable magical power enabled them to resist the repulse. The ground shook and rumbled, as though shaken by a god.

A god.

**XxXxXxX**

Gellert Mercedonius Grindelwald was born on the 7th of February 1881 in East Berlin, Germany. When he was 4, his mother died in an accident while experimenting with strange artefacts in the German Ministry, in its_Mysteriumsabteilung_ – Department of Mysteries. Gellert never got to know her. Her name was Lucilia.

As he grew up, it soon became apparent to his father and close family friends that Gellert was going to become an unusually talented wizard someday. He had begun accidental bursts of wandless magic since he was able to walk and by the time he was 6 he was able to control it in a primitive fashion, using it consciously, albeit occasionally – it caused him immense fatigue to use his magic, even in short phases - whenever he wanted something that he couldn't reach, such as a strange mixing tool on the top shelf of their pantry he had acquired much to the bewilderment of his father one year ago.

It was also revealed that he was extremely intelligent. Gellert picked up German and English very quickly, and he was able to grasp the principles from his father's book _Magical Theory by Albert Waffling _with an almost frightening understanding. His father, Graham Grindelwald, allowed Gellert to have any book he liked as long as he obeyed certain rules: Keeping the amount he wanted in one go within reason and nothing that included Dark Magic. Graham was quite relieved at the pensive look on his 8 year old son's face when he mentioned Dark Magic, as he knew that Gellert would learn everything about it given an opportunity - if only for the sake of learning.

Gellert was an only child and as a result, was a little spoiled by his father. They came from a rather recent and averagely wealthy pureblood family, but due to Graham's high connections in the magical government in Germany, he was able to obtain a very good job as a researcher in the Ministry: An Unspeakable. It was a well-paying job and due to Graham's inventiveness he quickly rose high up in the ranks and, consequently, the Grindelwald family had become quite well off.

Gellert had a large room to himself that contained a big bed, a bookshelf, an oak wardrobe and a desk next to the bookshelf. His room had a very nice, relaxing view of the wild yet beautiful countryside of Northern Prussia. He was very interested in magic, and most of his bookshelf was steadily filling up with textbooks and tomes on the different subjects.

He had arranged them so: one shelf for the history of the Wizarding world, both recent and ancient, and another reserved for the subjects he would be taught at his school. His father had informed him what school he would be enrolled in the previous evening; He would be educated at Durmstrang Institute.

Gellert already knew a little of the school – it was one of the best in Europe, and was notorious for its almost paranoiac secrecy. He also recalled that it was Unplottable, which in itself was a mind-baffling piece of sorcery which defied every conventional law of magic. Already the young wizard was interested in the boarding school. It seemed superior to Beauxabatons, and although Hogwarts was also quite fascinating –steeped in a deep magical history of its own and located in Scotland, the compositional heartland of the near-extinct Celtic magics – Gellert preferred somewhere closer to home. Where Durmstrang reputedly was.

So, on his eleventh birthday, while deciding on what coat he should wear that morning, there was a noise from his window-pane – a cross between a tapping and a scraping. To his delight, when he had taken the liberty of checking, it was an owl. Not just any feathered creature, however – it was a large, heavy black thing, with a repulsive beak which Gellert could easily imagine tearing through carrion. It feathers were greasy, and its eyes flinty and suspicious. Despite its rather foul appearance, Gellert focused on it little, though – the object of his desire was clutched within its hooked feet.

He plucked it out of the creature's claws, shooing it away. To his surprise, it didn't move – only regarding him coldly for several long moments, before ruffling its feathers, spreading its black wings and flapping away. Despite its size, it was gone within moments.

_Are non-magical creatures attuned to magic? _Gellert wondered as he crossed the room and sat on his mattress. _It would explain that beast's odd attitude towards me. They could be, in fact; after all, humans are, and we are mammals…or so Darwin would have us believe. _He snorted, turning around the delivery in his hands. It was a letter, made of a thick white paper and as crisp as snow. Expensive, then. On the other side, when he checked there was a single seal, pressed into the letter with hot wax. It was a black deerhead on a swampy green background. For the first time, Gellert felt a shiver of excitement pass through him – energising and magnificent. It was the Durmstrang emblem.

He opened his desk drawer and retrieved a letter opener, using it to slit the off. Inside was another piece of paper, just as luxurious and as costly as its container. It felt soft in his hands as he straightened it out, squinting at the finely calligraphed words. They were handwritten.

This is what it read:

_Dear G.L. Grindelwald,_

_It is my pleasure to inform you that your son, Gellert M. Grindelwald, has been selected to be enrolled in his first year of education at our glorious establishment, Durmstrang Institute. He will be expected at the initiation ceremony on September the 16__th__ and will also be required to have obtained a pair of black robes, winter garments and a wand by this time. His other equipment will be provided by the school. However, you are more than welcome to provide your son's own stationary if you wish._

_As befitting your son's status as the eldest male heir to the Grindelwald family, he will be furnished with his own room, which will include a bed, a desk, a wardrobe and a chest for his possessions. There will also be a lavatory pit, connected to our recently established sewer system, and a washstand._

_However, your son is not permitted to attend events such as the Feast of the Unsullied or Magisterial Procession, due to his blood status as a half-blood. This has already been discussed with you, so we expect no inference or negative action towards the Institute as a result._

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Peter Korsokof, Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute_

Gellert's father was pleased by the letter. "Congratulations Gellert," he said loudly, slapping Gellert on the back. He nearly fell off his chair – Graham's hand was nearly as large as his head, and he was almost literally as strong as an ox. Then Gellert asked: "What are the "events" that the Headmaster mentioned?"

"Ah…well, yes the events." Graham fiddled with the cuffs of his coat, quite intent upon them. "It seems that you are not quite allowed to be at them. They are exclusively for purebloods."

"And what will happen at them?"

"Oh, they are just parties, really. Time for purebloods to socialise and enjoy themselves." Gellert's fingers twitched; he didn't like being excluded from anything. And he had always enjoyed the idea of parties, despite only ever attending his own – Gellert's grandparents had died long before he was born, his mother had been an only child and his father's brother had fallen to the Aurors' wands nine years ago.

"I understand," said Gellert. Graham nodded happily.

Barely two weeks later Gellert found himself standing outside an old wooden shop, wedged between two larger buildings that squashed it between them like a deformed gnome. It looked be on the brink of collapse – held together seemingly by crudely nailed planks of wood, it teetered precariously on the slope of the street, pointing towards the brighter, more lively areas. Despite its apparent isolation, Gellert knew it to be one of the most widely frequented workshops in Europe – Gregorovitch's.

The Berlin Trail was fascinating to Gellert's isolated mind – new, active and fascinating, it was the heartland and the magical centre of most of Eastern and Western Europe. It held possibly the greatest magical library in the world, as well as literally hundreds of shops. They had spent little time there, only buying a set of black robes, fur-lined gloves and a woollen cap. They had only really wanted to get the wand shop – it was the highlight of the journey, beautifully paved avenues and best-seller bookshops besides.

The man was already at work when they entered. There was no bell, and even if there was Gellert doubted that he would have noticed them – he was engrossed in his work, using an elegantly curved knife to sharpen and shape a long, thin piece of wood. It was curious, the way he did it; every couple of moments he would stop, run his hands across its length and tap it off his desk. He would press his ear against it for a few moments and then, satisfied, would continue his scraping and shaving.

Graham cleared his throat awkwardly. The man stiffened, turning around and even now Gellert could barely make him out through the dim light cast by the oil lamp. In fact, he couldn't even make out his surroundings.

"Oh, hello," said the man, as though surprised. He raised his hand, muttered a word, and a pale blue orb of light formed at the tip of the stick of wood - a wand, Gellert realised. It detached itself and floating upwards to rest at the ceiling, hanging their. It was so bright that Gellert could not bring himself to look directly at it – the light was utterly blinding.

"I don't believe we have…" he trailed off as Graham stepped forward. At nearly seven foot tall, Graham had that kind of effect on people.

"Actually, we have – you were the one who gave me my first wand," said Graham, his hand touching his coat pocket almost fondly.

"Well, I…well, good then," still rather dazed by Graham's sheer bulk, he turned to Gellert, as though looking for something normal to latch onto. "And I'll suppose you'll be wanting a wand too, boy?"

Had it been anyone other than an adult, Gellert would have bristled. But he had to remind himself that, to them, he still was a boy. "Yes sir," he said, appraising the man. He seemed to be in his late thirties, though he easily could have been older – the wrinkles around his eyes and the hair that's colour and length seemed to indicate that it was decomposing all belonged to an older man.

The wandmaker, Gregorovitch, doddered to the back of his workshop, before bringing out a large trunk. He had quite a bit of difficulty taking it, so Graham helped him out, easily picking it up in one hand and walking back towards the counter, Gregorovitch looking once again a little blinkered.

"So…," he continued, before deteriorating into mumbling. Then, after fetching some equipment, he started to measure Gellert in the most ridiculous places – even the nostrils were not spared inspection. After finishing Gregoritch took out a few cases from the untidy pile that had gathered in the bottom, spreading them out in front of Gellert. They all appeared identical – smooth and polished wood, with brass clasps and almost seamless openings. Twelve in total.

He tried several wands, eagerly swishing the conduits after Gregorovitch handed them over. Each of them produced uniquely different affects – one, a yew and dragon heartstring one, had actually set the air above the wandmaker's head on fire for a few moments, before Gregorovitch shook his head and gestured for Gellert to return it. All the rest, while making spectacularly violent shows, didn't feel right to Gellert. Gregorovitch only increased his doubts by taking back every single wand Gellert used. However, he was not going to be so easily disheartened – deep within, he knew he was a wizard.

He was proved right on the seventh try – when the wand was moved to the right, tiny purple motes stirred round its tip, before gathering and giving off an eerie, violet light that shone like a beacon from its point. Gellert's face broke into a grin; this was the one. It felt like an extension of his own arm – part of him.

"_Wir gratulieren, _son!" said Graham exultantly, slapping Gellert on the back. "Yes, yes, well done…," murmured Gregorovitch, hunching over the desk and gathering all of the wands, carefully placing them back within their velvet lined homes and tucking them away. He straightened as much as his bent back would allow.

"Now to the matter of money…due to the current, ah, state of affairs, I'm afraid the price will amount to the cost of twenty-five nachtins," he said. Grahams face darkened.

"The price last month was only twelve! Why should I pay more now?!"

"Because, well, um, recently the economy has been damaged due to the unification of the ministrie -"

"I already know that!"

"Then, um, well – meaning no offence – you should really be able to understand why I am charging you that price. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."

Graham eventually paid after much argument, though he muttered darkly under his breath as he left that they were never going back _there_ again. For his part, Gellert didn't mind – he had his own _wand._

Scarcely a month later Gellert found himself walking through a heavily forested area in northern 'Germany', as it was becoming fashionably called now. Densely packed trees, their dark green foliage frosted with snow, towered over the pair as father and son, educated wizard and uneducated wizard, made their way briskly towards their destination.

The sky was a pallid, fresh colour, while the rugged and wild landscape afforded it a rare, almost ascetic type of beauty that Gellert prized. Bushy tailed foxes occasionally crossed their path, staring at them before darting away into the forest, while migrating birds flapped overhead. His breath came in misted frost as Graham and he crunched their way along the snow-covered path.

Gellert broke the silence. "Father…at Durmstrang, will I be able to keep in touch? I'm not sure if I'll be allowed to use the school birds, if they even have-"

Graham frowned at him. "We've been over this."

"Have we?"

"You asked three times this morning."

Gellert sighed. "I suppose I have. It's just…I'm going to miss it. All of it."

"All of it?"

"Home; the gardens; my room, and the landscape." There was the smallest hesitation. "You."

Graham's eyes crinkled as he turned his head to face his son, a smile forming. "Of course you will. It's natural; I missed my father when I first went, as did my father to his, and his own father, and so on and so forth. It's completely habitual, if you think about it – a creature will naturally worry, yearn for its own habitat when removed."

"Why?"

"Safety; security. The comfortable feeling of wholeness, of being…" He trailed off.

"Complete?" Gellert offered.

"Exactly; complete. The thing that all beings strive for. Perhaps unknowingly. It's rather ironic, actually, how it reflects through their actions."

"Pardon me, father, but how is this related?"

"I'm explaining to you your feelings, Gellert. By analysing them, by looking at them in a cold, logical way, you will eventually find that they will, one day, perhaps have no control over you."

In response to Gellert's bewildered expression, Graham chuckled.

"I don't mean that you will suddenly become some king of emotionless sociopath. That would be quite the accomplishment." He let out a snort of laughter, but is brow was deepening. "You will still have the feelings – they will be as strong as ever, in fact – but you can…oh, what's the word…regulate them, I think? Indeed, they can be regulated."

"Ah…that sounds, er, interesting," Gellert said carefully, not wanting to voice his own opinion. _Clearly ludicrous._

"Of course it is. To know this is to understand the feelings that drive us to action."

"Can you do this thing?"

Graham snorted. "No. I've never been very good at keeping my temper in check, never mind other emotions. But remember this, Gellert – master yourself, and you will be able to master _anything_."

Gellert thought about this for several long moments. The only sounds were the chippering of birds as they flew overhead in tight packs and of the soft snow crushing underneath their boots.

"I-I think I understand."

"Well, that's good enough for me. All you can really do is understand, at this moment – everything else comes later."

As he finished, there was another sound, distant, quite apart from the calls of animals and the grinding of snow. A crashing sound, like a large bucket being overturned on concrete.

"Hurry, Gellert," Graham said, his eyes suddenly alert. "Time is sneaking away." Then he increased his pace, legs striding powerfully down the path with renewed vigor. Gellert hurried to keep up.

After a time the trees started to give way, becoming more sporadically placed among the snow-streaked hills and fields of the area, before it gave way completely to a large, almost canyon-like opening. Below was a crowd of witches and wizards escorting their children – all the while fussing over them and checking their luggage – to what seemed to be a renaissance-era frigate. Even from nearly a mile away, its beauty was apparent to all – with its beautiful body of wine coloured oak and its silken sails fluttering gently in the wind as it bobbed in the frozen waters of the Baltic ocean.

Pulling his suitcase, Gellert followed his father down the path, taking in everything his mind could about the other wizards. He had little interaction with others of his kind, and so was naturally curious about his soon-to-be schoolmates.

Unlike Gellert and his father, who were dressed in simple winter cloaks, the other wizards were all dressed in what Gellert considered to be opulent flagrance. With knee-high leather boots made from exotic animal hides, silk scarves and hats lined with the fur of snow leopards, their wealth was far from hidden – it was exulted and revelled in.

A slight stir of dislike rose in Gellert. Were they really so arrogant to show of simply for the sake of showing off? Petty rivalries, fashion squabbles, all striving to be the highest and best of the aristocracy. Weak wizards and fashion freaks. Perhaps not all, but undoubtedly many. Had pureblood society truly degenerated so far?

Gellert remembered the stories his late uncle had told him, shortly before his death. Shorter and slimmer than his brother, Agiev had been considered one of the best duellists in the country – perhaps in Europe – and had never failed to disappoint. With his bladelike nose and deep-set eyes, that had always seemed to glitter with cruel laughter, Gellert had always been terrified of him as a child.

"_There was a time,"_ he used to say, sitting on an armchair in his home or flourishing his wand against an enchanted dummy, _"when pureblood families were respected for their power, not just their wealth. Such crude values have only taken hold in the past century or so. War used to be the work of a gentleman; now, instead of sending their youngest and best to forge themselves in warfare, the patriarchs and matriarchs pamper them – giving them the finest clothes, the softest beds, the most eminent tutors. Their wealth pays for mercenaries to fight instead; the lower orders; the dredges of society. When those peasants got involved, it all became very distasteful." _He would then fix a three year old Gellert with that vicious gaze and the smile of psychopath.

"_That is not the way of our family – and it never will be. Heed my words, Gellert, for I guarantee that those who hold these values won't be around for much longer. They will die out. So take them on, Gellert, and never surrender to the weak."_

Gellert had heeded his uncle's words – and had never forgotten them. And so, when he gazed upon the squabbling, petty purebloods as they sneaked covetous glances at each other's garments and possessions, Gellert, for perhaps the first time in his life, understood what is uncle had meant.

Soon, after much walking and discussion about what would happen when he reached Durmstrang ( "You'll be escorted up to the school from the docking platform by some sort of caretaker," Graham had said. "When I was there, it was Gorban Delcov, but even then he was old.) They began to reach some of the stragglers – the ones who were almost as late as them, bustling along rapidly, the parents shouting at their trailing children to hurry up. One family was nearly running in front of them when a dark-haired woman, dressed in modest travel attire, scuffed the almost trolley-like bag carrier on a loose, almost rock-sized stone. She let out a shriek as it went flying, the contents spilling outwards onto the slightly frosty path as the three children stared on in utter embarrassment and disbelief.

Graham paused for a moment, bringing out his wand – constructed of a lightly-coloured wood – and waving it with a flourish. The robes and robes immediately began to soar back through the air, along with books, quills and what looked like a tarnished, shrunken cauldron. The square-jawed woman stared at Graham in surprise, then gratitude, giving a gratified, _"Danka," _before hurrying off at her previous speed towards the slightly bobbing, rocking boat.

Conversation died soon after that between Gellert and his father – they both fell silent, the feeling of something important approaching becoming more pronounced. Soon they were in the thick of the writhing mass of wizards, in a cacophony of animal hoots, human shouts and laughter, and the now-noticeable toll of a bell.

Then, after minutes of shuffling walk, Gellert's booted feet struck the wooden floorboards of the pier. Graham glanced downwards, then up at Gellert, before drawing his son over to an empty spot off the main crowd. Gellert followed.

"Now, son," said Graham, his strong hands smoothing the lapels and straightening the creases of Gellert's robe. "It's time, eh?"

"I suppose," Gellert said, almost reluctantly – he realised, at that moment, that he didn't really want to go. More than that, he didn't want to leave his home.

However childish and immature, he didn't want to leave his father.

"Dad," broke out Gellert, suddenly feeling a heart-wrenching sense of loss. "I don't want to go. I want to stay."

Graham laughed. "Of course you do! Remember our conversation earlier? It's natural." Then he sighed, looking at his son with a duo of sea-green eyes, sparkling in the morning light. A tremulous smile came from his face.

"Go son – you must. And remember, no matter what anybody says, no matter what happens…I will always, and forever will be, proud of you."

Gellert felt something well up in him, and he grabbed his father in a tight embrace. "I know, dad…I…I know."

"We all do Gellert; that's the first step towards understanding, and acceptance. Goodbye, Gellert, and have fun. I love you."

With a pat on the back, and with the proud air only a father can possess, Graham Grindelwald ushered his son on the path to power.

His boots thumped on the wooden planks as he made his way across the pier, weaving delicately through the crowd, having had much practise during his numerous childhood visits to the distinguished Berlin Trail. In very little time at all, the wizard-to-be found himself poised at the edge of the threshold of the ship, its well-polished maroon panelling adding to the sense of mystique and allure that he had so recently attributed to the infamous school. Gellert suddenly, inexplicably, felt as though he was at the cusp of vital moment – one which would influence his life forever after.

_Should I go?_

Then, as people began to make impatient huffs and exhalations behind him, he realised that he didn't have a choice.

He stepped onto the boat.

Instantly that odd feeling, the one of foreboding and apprehension, lifted, as though lighter than air. Gellert made his way over to the small crowd of other teenagers, all dressed in various shades of black, some looking frightened, others brimming with excitement.

The bell tolled once more; it's high pitched, ringing peal echoing melancholically across the near-frozen lake, past crusts of half-formed ice swirling on its opaque surface and the birds that cawed and called, circling for food. Gellert felt quite touched.

Someone called from the cabin of the ship – a beautiful and ornately carved lodge, of an old revival-era design – and the boat, seemingly of its own accord, pushed off from the pier, sending the students-to-be in a slight stumble. Gellert clutched one of the guard-rails, itself coloured in a rich shade of crimson, and looked over to the waiting platform. Families were gathered there, some crying, others shouting proudly - but all waving. He could make out his father, who stood a good foot over everybody else, waving his hand vigorously, a beaming smile gracing his face. Gellert waved back, feeling, uncharacteristically, very emotional.

Soon the families grew more distant as the journey came into full being; but even at the end, as they grew to be little more than black and white specks in the distance, Gellert thought he could see his father.

The boat ploughed on unceasingly through the water, crushing and splitting any object that got in its way, passing by the island that hunched out over the ocean, hundreds of meters from the now-invisible pier. There was little sound on the boat, save from the sounds of boots shifting on planks of wood, the swish of the water passing by outside the boat and the faint tweets of birds roosting in the island trees for the winter.

Gellert beheld the frigid waters of the Baltic Sea as continental Europe slowly shrank from the eye, in all its harsh beauty, before turning around and making his way over to a relatively dry looking barrel. Sitting on it, he looked up at a noise from the other students, who were already doing the same things – squatting on the decks, lounging on the banisters with their hands in their robes, looking nonchalant to a man…one boy had even climbed up to the mast, and was perched up there like some sort of lookout.

Small conversations broke out as the boat continued onwards, people gradually approaching each other with tentativeness until, after only about half an hour on the voyage, small groups of threes and fours were already forming, chatting amicably.

Perhaps because he was on his own, or perhaps because his eyes and mind were more perceptive than those of his peers, Gellert began to notice a subtle change in the bearing of the boat – it had shifted, ever so slightly, at a an angle that couldn't even have exceeded the early teens. He watched, interested, as its path followed a slightly different trajectory.

When its vector began to change once more, Gellert focused completely on the boat's direction – it had taken a steeper curve, one much more noticeable. Other students were now peering over the polished wooden banisters into the water, which was frothed white by its curving body, muttering to their neighbours.

"What's going on?" A girl asked as the boat gave a violent jolt. She and her friends looked terrified.

"I don't know…" muttered Gellert, leaning over to look at the boat. Everything appeared to be in order, apart from the fact that the boat was now travelling at almost a right angle.

"Here!" Yelled the dark-haired boy who was standing on the mast, one arm on the main pole, the other hanging free as he squinted through his cupped hand. "There's something coming up!"

Everyone gathered to the front of the boat, jostling and pushing each other to get in the front of the crowd. For a few moments of craning necks and anxious whispers, there was nothing. And then, over the horizon, something began to rise out like a great mountain.

But as soon as his hopes had risen, they died; it was not Durmstrang. He could have identified the school a mile off, its gothic towers and crude architectural design having been ingrained in his mind from hours of reading. This wasn't it.

Instead it was a cliff, sheer and vertical, made of pitted grey granite. Trees dotted its height, thin, quivering things of grey-brown wood and pale leaves.

And they were heading right for it.

Gellert wasn't the only one that noticed – one of the girls gave a terrified, high pitched scream, pointing to the rapidly approaching wedge of stone.

"_It's going to hit us!" _She shrieked, clutching one of her equally mortified looking friends. Several others, too, sank into panic, screaming or yelling in panic, running around the deck like gold-crazed nifflers. The wine-coloured boat, however, throughout all this terrified movement and turmoil, remained fixed on its undeviating course.

Gellert was completely assured of his own safety, of course, but even so, the sight of the indomitable rock face, sharply and roughly cut, with jagged pieces of stone spearing out like vertical cave-spikes, was enough to create apprehension in him. It was made worse by the fact that, contrary to what he had thought, the boat was not turning away from its direction, but was actually increasing speed. They were only twenty meters away.

Still, it comforted Gellert that his classmates were faring worse than him – the girls had already collapsed into what resembled a huddling mass of tears and wailing, while most of the boys were either bunched at the back of the boat or trying to break into the polished cabin door. In fact, the only one who had kept his head was the dark haired boy who was climbing down the well-maintained rigging that led up to the mast – the same boy, Gellert recalled, who had been balancing on the sail-mast only a few minutes prior.

Catching Gellert's look, the boy flashed a wry grin and began moving towards him almost as soon as his feet had thudded against the deck. Leaning against the banister, he looked over at the assortment of petrified students. Gellert watched, too, and for a few moments they shared a comfortable silence.

Then the boy broke it.

"It's a bit pathetic, isn't it?"

Gellert looked up, considering the question. The boy's face was relatively non-descript with his thin lips and beaky nose, but his eyes were what struck Gellert as a deviation from the mean – they were grey, like steel, and shone with a critical intelligence.

"Yes," Gellert said, feeling sorry for one of the girls as she desperately tried to jump overboard, only to be repelled back by an invisible force and sprawl on the deck. "Yes, it is."

"Thought as much; that's why I came over to you. Everyone else is…well," he inclined his head towards the increasingly panic-fuelled actions of their peers.

"What is your name?"

"Adrian Grimskofsky."

"Pure-blood or half-blood?"

"Does it matter?"

Gellert cocked his head. "Not really, but I like to know who I'm speaking to."

"I'm a pure blood. You?"

"Half-blood."

A slight shadow of disappointment crossed his face.

"Oh…I see."

Gellert frowned. "I don't think you do. Blood status isn't an accurate measure of someone's worth."

"It is. And there's no need to get snooty."

"Care to elaborate?"

He let out a little snort. "Well, for a start, pure-blood families always produce strong wizards."

"When they actually _are _wizards." Graham had told him this.

"Yeah…I suppose squibs are a bit of a bad side effect. But the point is that when they _are_ wizards they're always powerful, and they've always had a good head start before Durmstrang."

Gellert frowned. "What?"

"I've already learned the wand lighting charm." He looked proud. "My father's taught me. I've nearly got the locking one, but I'm finding it more difficult – the wand movement is hard."

Gellert didn't speak for several moments; he had read the books for school, of course, and had already memorised most of the facts. But he hadn't actually been able to learn the spells. He had only got his wand a few days before the start of term, and from the sound of things, others had already learned more than him. It rankled.

He was saved from having to answer by a jolt from the ship that sent everyone, including Gellert, staggering. Adrian clutched the banister for support, and his head twisted around.

"Oh dear," he muttered.

It was 'oh dear' indeed; Gellert could feel the ship streaking through the water under him like an overcharged steam-boat straight towards the cliff, and without any inclination of stopping. The distance was closing rapidly.

He stood stock still. Why wasn't the wall fading, or disappearing? A small feeling of fear took hold as the ship neared, the cliff so close that it threw a shadow over the boat. Screams rang out from the collection of students as they were suddenly, and without warning, drenched in darkness.

And just when Gellert was thinking about seriously considering other alternatives – even though it was probably too late – the darkened ship gave a violent, wrenching shudder that caused its wooden body to groan in protest.

"What's happening?" Screamed a girl, clutching her friend in terror. "_What's happening?!_"

Even if he'd cared, Gellert couldn't answer – he was genuinely perplexed by the ship's odd behaviour. Then there was another tremor that reverberated powerfully across the body of the ship and, before Gellert's very surprised eyes, it began to sink.

A renewed chorus of screams broke out from the assemblage of students as the ship slowly sank into the sea. Gellert looked around quickly to see if help was coming, or for any sort of sign that it was all planned.

He found the latter, unexpectedly, in Adrian next to him – he seemed bored, checking his, as Gellert observed with interest, perfectly manicured nails, occasionally glancing upwards. When Gellert couldn't take it any longer; the water had nearly reached the wine-coloured wood of the banister; he turned to Adrian.

"What's going on?" He demanded.

Adrian looked up in surprise. "I thought you would know."

"Just tell me."

He gave Gellert a small smile. "You'll see." And then he returned to the examination of his pristine, pearl-shine nails, as though looking for a non-existent imperfection.

So Gellert waited, trying to detach the emotion of nervousness as he watched the water rise upwards, as though following his feelings. Icy water scalded his hands, and he moved away from the banister, retreating to the mast. Adrian almost got soaked, but realised at the last second that the water was at the cusp of the ship's broadside and consequently, only escaped with a sodden pair of boots.

Then the water, instead of spilling over the edge and onto the deck, seemed to climb through the air.

The ship suddenly went silent, save from the splashes of water from the waves and caws of gulls. It was a silence born not of fear, not of anger and certainly not of outrage – it was a silence born of astonishment.

The water was sliding upwards in the air, oozing and feeling its way across what seemed to be a smooth, impenetrable sphere of air that encircled the ship. Higher it rose, swirling around itself, until, at barely a meter above the crows' nest, the last speck of light vanished amid azure currents.

Gellert was frozen by wonder. Around the ship they could see the Baltic ocean in all its wild, natural beauty; silvery fish with round and startled eyes swam around the sinking ship in loose shoals, glimmering in the dark, while long, rubbery strands of seaweed hung, suspended, from sharp clusters of moss-covered rock. Dark shapes moved in the cold, murky distance.

The ship glided gracefully through the depths, cutting through the water as effortlessly as snow parts for lava, and the other students gradually overcame their initial feelings of fear and confusion . They cautiously approached the water, and Gellert watched a boy reaching out a hand, only, to Gellert's eyes, be confronted with something flawlessly curved and shaped. He worked his hands around it, appearing to be searching for an opening, calling his friends over in excitement.

Soon a pleasant atmosphere had overcome the ship again, and people chatted amicably and without any sort of indication of what had happened earlier. Gellert was staring out at the sparkling ocean. To him, who had never even been near one before, it was beautiful. A large dark shape suddenly came out of the depths, sliding by the ship; a long, grey-coloured creature with serrated teeth and small, black eyes that seemed utterly blind. He watched, half-nervously half-fascinated, as it circled the ship several times, disappearing under and over it, until its long fin slid away, and then the tail.

"What's your name?" Asked Adrian suddenly.

"Gellert. Gellert Grindelwald."

"Ah…I've heard of your family. Well, your dad. Isn't he an Unspeakable?"

"Yeah – I don't know exactly what he does, though. It's supposed to be very important."

Adrian nodded imperatively. "Top secret, I suspect. My mum says he's one of the best."

"He's the head of the department. What do your mum and dad work as?"

"My father is self-employed – he owns a beverage company. My mum's an accountant."

"An accountant? Do you mean with Gringotts?"

Adrian scoffed. "Of course not! As though we would trust those mangy little creatures with our money. She is with Jindulag."

"The Finnish enterprise?"

"Yes, actually." He looked surprised. "How do you know?"

"I read it in _An Essential Guide to Wizarding Europe."_

Adrian looked bewildered. "I've never heard of it."

"You have to read it, it's a brilliant book; there's just so much in it – of the _Course de Camion_ in Aquitane, the region in France, everything on the Berlin Trail, Diagon Alley in Britain…"

He looked a little amused. "Have you read the school books?"

"All of them. They're quite good as well. What do you think is going to be your favourite subject?"

"I think transfiguration looks really interesting, although a bit difficult. Beast Study seems good as well. You?"

"I would say charms – it's the one that we will probably use the most in life. Maybe potions, because it appears to be really interesting."

"Yeah, I suppose. What about Da-"

They was loud rush of swirling water, and the ship suddenly, inexplicably, rose towards the surface of the ocean. The students were all pitched onto the deck by the sheer force of movement, unable to move; pinned by the pressure.

And then there was a thunderous, ear-splitting crash of water, and light suffused Gellert's vison like heaven itself. He winced, covering his eyes – the light was blinding after the ocean's darkness. He saw the shape of Adrian next to him – he, too, was shielding his face. After a few moments of violent lurches from the ship as it dipped in the powerful wake of its surfacing, Gellert began to see more distinctly – rather than just a few, indistinct, blurry shapes in the nearby vicinity.

The ship was floating in what appeared to be a frozen-over lake, of ice covered in a snow-white frost. Gellert looked over the side of the boat; the ship must have broken through the thick layer of ice, and, sure enough, it lay upon an oval of chilled water surrounded on its perimeter by jagged, disjointed ice. The lake stretched perhaps half a mile in every direction, and tall snow-covered mountains surrounded its body, large and foreboding. The sky was light shade of grey, with fluffy snowflakes swirling around them, seemingly everywhere.

There was the sound of boots thumping on wood. The students ran over to his side, rapt expressions on their faces as they awaited whomever was coming. Adrian stood next to him, looking as though his frame simply couldn't contain his overabundance of energy.

A man was walking across the pier that led up to the ship from the only visible stretch of land – a pathway that wove upwards into the cliffs. He reached them after a few moments, his long strides taking him far, wearing tightly-cut robes. His hair was an iron-grey, and he wore a stylish beard, trimmed across his jawline. His air was that of a man who could handle himself well.

For a second he just looked at them all, seeming appraising, his dark eyes picking them out. Gellert felt a slight sense of unease as his gaze passed over him, but in a moment his apparent examination was done. He raised his wand, and the ramp of the boat materialised into existence between the pier and the ship. Awe-filled muttering filled the ship, until the man put a stop to it.

"Quiet." He didn't speak loudly, but everyone instantly shut up. His voice was direct and forceful, the sort that carried itself. "If you have any sense, you will listen to what I say. My name is Professor Yerbatov Salowsky, the Dark Arts instructor at Durmstrang. You will, from now on, refer to me and the rest of the staff as 'sir', 'madam' or 'professor'. Any other title will be punishable by whipping".

There was an uneasy shuffling among the students. He noticed.

"Fear a little punishment, do you? I would expect nothing more from new students. They are always soft, in the beginning. But not for long - Durmstrang will shape you, whether you like it or not."

He fixed them with another look. "Our institute is one of the finest in the world, and we work rigorously to maintain the required standards. We will tolerate no impertinence; no rudeness from impudent adolescents whose only excuse is their 'angst' and whose heads are so big that they can't pass the gateway."

Several students sniggered. He flashed them a dangerous look and they instantly quietened.

"Do you think I'm joking?" He said grimly, "That's what Rikarev Piwiano thought, before I dragged him by the ear to the dungeons. By the third lash he was begging for his mother." He shook his head as though dislodging an irksome fly.

"But back onto topic. At this school you will be taught all you need to know to survive in this world – and more. You will be taught to transform knives into feathers, to charm a mannequin to fight, to disguise yourself from others; you will be taught how to handle dangerous and poisonous plants, how to use their gifts for your own gain, and how to brew concoctions that can do anything - from giving you the eyesight of an eagle to subduing a fully-grown dragon. You will learn shield charms to defend yourselves, and powerful curses to destroy your enemies. You will learn, ultimately, the art of magic."

There was a long, awed silence as he finished. Then, after nobody moved, he said, "Come – your education shall begin." And with that final, impressive note, he turned away and swiftly strode up the pier; the awestruck students hastily following him.

Gellert mulled over what the man, Salowsky, has said about Durmstrang, while Adrian followed him from the side, equally silent – perhaps thinking over what he had said as well. It all sounded very impressive, and rousing, but when it came to application, Gellert wasn't sure if he would be the one casting the powerful spells, or making incredible potions. He hadn't even learned a single spell, or tried to apply anything he had read from the books. Would the knowledge of the theory, which Gellert thought he knew well, suffice for skill or raw talent? Somehow he didn't think so.

The brooding silence lasted all the way up the mountain path – a cold, frosted route covered in loose stone and dead grass. The students huddled excitedly as they moved up, occasionally pointing at the black mouth of a jagged cave or a flash of white fur that quickly disappeared behind one of the countless snow-covered boulders. A few students even ventured out a little to explore, but Salowsky soon put a stop to it.

"Back!" He snapped at the students, who were peering around a path that led away into the rocks. The jumped in fright and ran back to the crowd, soon disappearing. "My job is to keep you safe, not to let you be eaten by a pack of wolves or a mountain troll."

At his last words, there was much muttering of shock and fear among the students. Gellert looked at the rocks and mountains in a new light after that – he had read about trolls, and even though his books weren't even above second year level, they told him enough. Enough to know that your best option when facing one of them was to turn tail and sprint in the opposite direction. "_Exceptionally strong and vicious creatures, trolls are not known for their kindness or peaceful nature – rather their inherently violent and cruel disposition, and, most frighteningly, their spell-resistant hide, which all but the most potent spells can penetrate."_

Gellert very nearly grinned to himself, if it was not for the students and Adrian, who were trudging up the frozen path. He was quite proud of his memory, and the fact that he had almost perfectly quoted _Creatures, a study: The Comprehensive Guide to Magical Beasts_. The fact that he had done it brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to his body, a shiver of pride. He could see it in his mind now, a green book styled with flourishing gold writing, and the words of the book itself, uniformed and unadorned. It was a brilliant book, in his opinion – one of the best he had ever read, a sentiment of his that had only been justified when it won "The Diladion Finkeltwerk Award" for the best book in the last decade, and had been certified by the Ministry as a school textbook suitable for Durmstrang's Beast Study class.

But his self-indulgent reflection was brought to an abrupt halt when Salowsky (Professor_ Salowsky, _he corrected himself) raised his hand in in a single, sharp motion. The whole group paused, and the people closest grumbled as others bumped into them. Gellert distinctly heard one of them mutter, "Back off, half-blood," to which the angry retort was, "Oh, sorry, I didn't realise that it's cool to be inbred." The first student turned around, alight with anger, but was stopped by Proffesor Salowsky's snap of, "Quiet, idiot boy."

Giving them a last, frigid glare, he turned back around, raised his wand and said clearly, "_Reveal dich mir, Bastion der rein und kraftvoll! Lassen Sie Ihre neue Themen zu Fuß Ihre Gründe und Trinken von Ihrem Wissen, O Durmstrang!_"

At first nothing happened. For several long moments, the only sound pervading the air was the unearthly howel of wind. Several students sniggered. Gellert was, all things considered, a little bemused. Bastion of the pure and powerful? _Pure_? He felt a sliver of anger. Why was everything so bloody biased?

Then, before Salowsky's outstretched wand, there was a thunderous boom of sound, a flash of blinding light, and medievel-style gates materialised out of thin air, towering above them – black and forbidding, with gothic, spiked arches and a powerful, jagged portuculies. It seemed to be rusted at the bottom.

Without another word, Salowsky strode through the gate. Nobody, Gellert noted, was laughing now – they all seemed very immpressed, perhaps even unwillingly.

They went through the gate, and as they passed it, Gellert noticed that there were hazy, indisctinct shadows far ahead. They were barely percpetible, but as the group continued up through the path, they became sharper and easier to see –forming into familiar shapes that Gellert could unconciously recognise, but not quite put his finger on. The other students began to notice as well, and started talking to each other in hushed whispers.

"Do you know what they are?" he asked Adrian quietly, not wanting the others to hear. Adrian shook his head, looking thoughroughly noplussed. "No. I've never heard anything from my Aunt's or uncle's about it."

Gellert frowned. "What about your mother and father?"

His new friend didn't look at him, suddenly becoming very interested in the cuffs of his robes. "We don't talk. They're usually away on business."

"Ah." There was clearly more to it, but Gellert spared him embaressment by trying to discern the black mass that was slowly solidifying. It seemed to be...some sort of rampart, or...

It soon became apparent. It was a another fortification – a black wall of stone stretching from one side of the path to the other, ancient and weathered but no less strong, with a single, lone tower standing on its left. There was a man standing at the top, dressed in black robes, his hands placed on the ramparts as he watched them pass. He waved his hand to Salowsky, who returned it.

Another archway was passed, and Gellert found himself growing more and more expectant. Where was Durmstrang? What would it be like, would it be everything he imagined it to be? Would it be mundane or magical?

The hill grew steeper as they climbed it, and they were soon trying to avoid slipping on the slick patches of ice that lurked, half-hidden, in the snow. Gellert's legs were aching. He wished that he could just grab a broomstick and fly up there, like he had seen the wizards do in his books...

Above him, Salowsky reached what appeared to be the top of the path. Beyong him, there was nothing but snowflakes and the endless plaster of grey sky.

"Beyond this point, you will be entering the grounds of the school. I would advise that you follow me, and don't go wandering off. Our beast studies teacher has imported a particularly vicious manticore from Russia. It is under lock and key in the forest, but in the instance of an escape..."

He leered at them in what was supposed to be a smile, and dissapeared over the path. The students hastened to follow, scrambing up the hill, with Gellert following their example. He reached the top first, and as the snowflakes fell on his shoulders and frozen hands as they gripped the cool rocks, he caught the first glimpse of Durmstrang.

It was situated within a huge plateau that stretched for miles upon end, coming to rest upon jagged mountains that encircled its length. An immense forest had grown near the castle, a dark, wintery woodland that was thinly spaced with pines and evergreens – the only trees that could survive in such a climate. Tundra rolled across much of the landscape, occasionally bumping up and down in steep hills, and a large, glassy lake was visible near the west of the forest.

The school itself was seemed oddly stunted in comparison – dwarfed and clearly underdeveloped . It stood on top of a large hill, dark and furtive, with black spires piercing high into the frozen air. Several watch towers were dotted around the vicinity, and what looked like a moat encircled it.

All were covered by a thick blanket of snow.

The other students made their way over to him, huffing and puffing at the effort. Adrian plopped himself down next to Gellert, his hands a raw red, breathing heavily.

"...phew...urg, that was-" he gulped in another large breath, " That was..._exhausting." _He turned away, apparently unable to speak coherently, his chest heaving like a pair of great bellows.

Gellert looked at his deflating frame and his equally fatigued peers with a little amusment. Those purebloods had lived such pampered lives. Gellert didn't consider himself to be incredibly fit, but he could run across nearly all of his father's estate without getting too tired and had been climbing the trees and hills of the land since he could walk.

He glanced down the path and saw Sawosky, alone on the path and perhaps a hundred meters away, striding towards the distant school. A man had approached him from a large log cabin, a little fellow with long, unkempt hair, whose face at this distance resembled little more than a smear of peach. They exchanged words, and then the man clapped his hands twice. Half a dozen carriages of highly polishes wood popped into existance, each headed by a pair of inky black horses.

Gellert made his way down that path quickly, closely followed by his peers. By now the snow was thick in the air, spinning around in a tempest and obscuring their vision, so that when they reached the bottom, Salowsky has dissapeared.

The small man was still there, though. He was brushing one of the horses when they arrived, and turned around. His nose was small and his eyes were dark and beady.

"So...you'se are the new students, eh?" He inquired. He didn't even wait for the collective nod. "Then you'll be coming with me on these here carts. Six on each, and no pushing or shoving."

Squeals of wood sounded as boots fell upon the cart floor and the students heaved themselves onto them. Gellert took a seat near the horses, directly across from an excited looking Adrian.

"This is brilliant, isn't it?"

Gellert grinned back, trying to contain shivers of excitement. "I know. We'll be learning proper magic soon! We'll be true wizards..."

The horses were stamping and snorting in the cold, breath coming out in mists. The man climbed up onto to their cart, taking the reins in his hands. Other

"I can't wait until we get to the entrance hall, my aunt's told me tha-" He stopped as the man muttered, "Gee' up," and the carriage was jerked forward.

"Yeah, my Aunt's said that the entrance hall is really cool."

"What's so good about it?"

"It's supposed to be really well decorated and everything."

"What are you looking forward to the most?"

"Probably Quidditch. I've played it since I was little."

Gellert was surprised. "Who with?"

"Well, er," his face went a little red, "Myself mostly. Sometimes my cousins. I play as a beater; what about you?"

"I've never really played it. It looks fun, but I like reading better."

"I meant what you're looking forward to."

"Oh...well, probably the magic." Gellert flashed a smile. "I really do love magic."

Adrian let out a little snort. "How can you love magic if, as you say, you've never performed it before?"

"Oh, I have used magic before," a slow smile was spreading across his face, "just not with a wand."

Adrian's brows were heavily drawn. "What do you mean?"

The smile grew broader. "I've always been able to do it. I don't know why, but...I can use magic, I can just use it, without a wand or anything. Sometimes its moving things, sometimes unlocking doors..." He stopped at Adrian's expression. He looked awed.

"Wow...I've heard about wizards that can do that. There's not many, and they're supposed to be really powerful, so...wow...Can-Can you show me?"

He said the last words tentatively. Gellert wiggled his fingers and looked at the other students. They were all engrossed in their convesations, words swept away in the wind and snow. Assured that they would not see, he raised his hand, and out of Adrian's pocket emerged a slim length of wood, gently floating above them. He held it there for a few seconds, then let it drop. Adrian snatched it out of the air.

He stared at Gellert in silence.

"That's...that's...incredible," he said, looking extremely impressed. "Really incredible."

Gellert sat back, grinning. It was difficult for him to do, sometimes – this gift of his wasn't a constant phenomenon; often it would fail if he directed it, and other times something completely diffirent would happen or it would not quite do what he thought it would, but he had learned that if he focused on intention, on _what _would happen rather than _how _it would happen, success would be his. Of course, it was still difficult, and this was one of those rare moments when his will became perfect reality.

But there was powers he still hadn't revealed, and may never. His ability to become invisible, to turn silver forks gold, to conjure objects from thin air...the evening when a book has flew across the room to his outstretched hand...when he had once extinguished every candle in the house with a breath...

He had never been able to replicate invisiblity, but everything else happened occasionally. His father had accepted it as part of him, even praising it, but Gellert had always been unsure of how others would regard it. If Adrian was any indication, it was something he should probably keep to himself. It wouldn't do to boast.

As the journey continued, and as the castle loomed nearer, Gellert began to wonder why he hadn't registered it as unusual before. He had always regarded these occurances as something interesting, but not particularly individualistic; something that everyone shared. The fact that it may not gave him an odd feeling – a mixture of pride and apprehension. Apprehension because he wanted to be accepted, liked and perhaps even popular; not some fortunate freak who would be marginalised by society.

Soon they were so close to the castle that a shadow had fallen over them, a shadow deeper than that cast by the mountain. For the first time Gellert began to appreciate how much work must have went into its construction – it looked more of a fortress than a school, with its thick ramparts, countless towers and seige-worthy drawbridges.

There was a sharp click from the horses' hoves and the carts came to a crisp halt. The drivers disembarked, pulling down the ramps on them for the students, and Gellert appraised them for the first time as he lined up with the others to get off. They all were wearing smart, slightly shabby cloths, like a drunken chaffeour who hadn't had a wash in weeks, which Gellert thought odd when compared to Durmstrang's disciplinarian policies. One of them passed by as he descended the ramp, moving stiffly towards the drawbridge. His eyes had a slightly glazed, blank look about them, as though he could see something they couldn't. It was slightly unnerving.

When they were all lined up on the frozen ground, standing straight ahead, their was a clanking, metallic noise and the vertical drawbridge began to fall, ancient chains groaning as it lowered it over the great expanse. With a powerful crack it landed on the stone, the moat hidden from sight.

"Move along, we haven't got all day," snapped the caretaker or whoever he was, "You're proffesors are expecting you!" The students hurried along in his wake, stopping before a pair of iron-oak doors. Gellert doubted anything but a troll with a battering ram could open it, and so was surprised when the man, who looked slighter than a willow, pushed one open with one hand. Azure light flooded out from within.

He scowled at their astonished expressions. "The doors open for me – I'm the caretaker. Now stop gawking _and get in!"_

The students hurried through the doorway, jostling each other to get through the gap. Gellert heard gasps from the front, and began craning his head while sifting his way through through the throng. What was happening?

Then he saw. Beyond the doorway, there were several curved, gothic arches, soaring cielings and what looked like corridors branching off until, at the end, a glittering door stood, like diamond or opaque crystal.

"It's so pretty!" Whispered a girl to her friends. Gellert found himself agreeing – there was something strangely pleasant about it, scintillating marvellously in the dark hallway.

They made their way across to it carefully, staying in a group, peering down the corridors. All were high-vaulted and made of black stone, looking particularly gloomy in the half-light cast by the pale balls hovering in the alcoves. They were a curious shade of blue-white, like azure flame. But before he could discern more, he was swept forward by the moving crowd.

When they reached the door, it suddenly opened with barely a sound, revealing a large, well-proportioned hall, decorated with paintaings of austere men and woman on the walls, the viridian tapestry that depicted a skeletal deer, the crest of Durmstranf, and a highly polished floor of black marble; which was, he realised, what the school's whole interior was made of, only that grime and countless boots had worn it rough and unrecognisable.

Placed periodically across the chamber were circular tables, snow-white cloths that trailed the floor draped across them, that held intricately worked silver candeleholders, gleaming cutlery and crystal goblets.

Students already occupied most – some tall, others less so, all wearing the same cloaks backed with the colour of dried blood, and all wearing the same appraising expression as they took in their group. Above them, hung from the cieling, was an ornate crystal chandelier.

At the end of the room there were two huge stone pillars fixed to the corners, stretching high to the cieling, inbetween which was a comfortably wedged balcony. On that balcony, there was a long, oval-shaped table where an assortment of stern-looking witches and wizards sat. Gellert recognised the hard-bitten features of Salowsky near the centre of the table, next to a man with maroon eyes and an elegantly maintained ponytail so red it looked aflame.

The students made their way over to the unnocupied tables, which happened to be – by chance, or design? – at the very back of the room, where it was the coldest. Gellert placed himself on a backed chair next to Adrian, and waited as the other pupils sat down.

When they had settled themselves comfortably, as comfortably as the chill would allow, the man with the red hair stood up. He was tall and lean, and his eyes seemed to glitter as they surveyed the hall.

"Welcome, students, to yet another year at Durmstrang," he said. His voice was light and friendly, but Gellert got the distinct immpression that this was a wizard who tolerated nothing but total obidience.

"To some," he said, indicating with a nod the back tables, "this will be your first year. For others it will be their second, third, fourth...even, for those successful few, their last."

A table of students near the balcony passed each other confident, smug looks. There weren't many – the table itself wasn't even fully filled – but they all lounged on their chairs with the casual ease of a prize student, someone who knew that they appeared cooly intimidating to others...and liked it.

"Our school is the finest in Europe; perhaps the finest in the world. We have a long tradition of academic excellence, of discipline and of a strong work ethic. As a student of this school, I expect you to reflect those values in your everyday actions and to live up to them as best as you possibly can. Your day will be divided up into study slots, which will be recorded on your own class timetable, with small intervals inbetween for relaxation and lunch; and you will have a few hours off in the evenings to complete homework or to spend with your peers."

This, to Gellert, all seemed directed towards the back tables – the new students. The older students, he observed, looked rather bored, as though they had heard something to this effect many times.

"Each year group has its own drawing room sitauted on the third floor, and the students are free to acess them at any time. Students cannot enter another year's living space, and I feel I must warn you that such transgressions will result in punishment – corporal punishment, which can be meted out by any teacher as they see fit. And entry to boys' and girls' dormitories by members of the opposite sex are _strictly_," he said, eyeing them suspiciously, "prohibited. Be notified that they are each magically protected from entrusion."

There was an outbreak of giggling by girls, from what looked like the third and fourth year table, and Gellert noticed that several other students were smirking. There was outbreak of childish whispers, before they were silenced by a disgusted glare from the headmaster. The staff differed in expression: some amused, othes uninterested and some, from their expressions, downright comtemptous.

"This year, there are a number of announcments I will have to make. Firstly, with regards to the Quidditch championships this year, I must report that it is now illegal to – er – crack the opposing team players over the head with a bat. Ignatius Poltoff has still not recovered from last years semi-final, and any other aggravaters will be expelled. And please don't give teachers the excuse of, '_Oh, I'm sorry sir, I thought his head was a bludger, sir, I really did'. _We are neither blind nor deaf, wheras you seem to think we are both. Hopefully you will heed me – heaven knows we have dealt with enough already."

"And it is also my great pleaure to announce that, this December, the Insitute will be hosting the Feast of the Unsullied for the European Society of Purebloods." At this, there was a fair amount of gasps and muttering – students around the hall looked astonished and excited in equal measure. Gellert sank lower in his seat, trying to cover his sense of injustice.

"This will include a dance, a dinner in the main hall and a speech from the Society's orator, Jindel Suelment."

"And now, dinner shall commence!"

He snapped his fingers and doors of the enterance hall flew open, admitting a few dozen servants, all draped in white cloth and linen, balancing silver platters of food on their arms. They glided among the tables, expressions completely unruffled, distributing some of the most sumptous-looking food Gellert has ever had the pleasure of smelling: turkey, lamb, succulent gammon, boats of steaming gravy, baked potato, roast potato, creamy mashed potato, pouring icy water into the goblets, boiled vegetables, soup...the list only went on.

After the servants had busteled around the tables, deliviring food with metallic clatters, they backed away and lined up against the wall, hands placed over one another and linen cloth falling over their arms – standing completely still.

Gellert picked up his knife and fork, and began to pile food on to his plate along with the other students, watching them as they did so. All held themselves with the air of being meticulously cared for, and ate with a reserved stateliness.

The food was indeed as good as it smelled – he didn't think he had ever tasted anything so delicious. He was halfway finished his plate when he turned to Adrian.

"Who was that?" Adrian frowned at him, before his brow lifted.

"Oh, the headmaster...his name's Peter Korsokoff. He's a great wizard, my dad says, very powerful. He's been running this place for nearly twenty years."

Gellert blinked in surprise, peering at the headmaster inently, who was in a deep discussion with a diminutive, thin wizard. "He doesn't look very old. Or is that an effect of magic?"

Adrian wiped his face with a napkin. "Yeah, some wizards and witches look alot younger than they actually are."

"You see very well informed."

"The headmaster's my dad's friend. I've actually had him over a few times. He doesn't really talk much."

But their conversation had attracted attention. A dark-haired boy at the opposite side of the table was staring at them, eyes narrowed.

"How does your father know him?"

Adrian seemed a little taken aback by the question. "My dad mentioned something about them meeting at a conference, somewhere."

The boy was still looking at him carefully. "Who's your father?"

"Herman Grimskofsky."

"Chairman of House Elf Trafficing?"

"Er – I think so."

He suddenly rounded on Gellert. "Who are you?"

"Gellert Grindelwald."

"Hmph...wasn't your uncle killed a few years ago?"

He was talking about Agiev. Gellert felt a stab of irritation. No sensitivity. "Yes."

"Pureblood?"

Gellert felt his eyebrows draw together as the boy stared at him, along with the whole table, who had by now tuned into the conversation. He knew the trouble this might bring..._but who cares, really?_

"Half-blood." There was an outbreak of muttering. Several students looked away, or went back to eating their dinner, as though Gellert had said something impolite or embaressing. Adrian didn't seem to care. But the boy, Gellert silently observed, now wore an expression of revulsion, as did the students sitting closest to him.

"Urgh..." he said in disgust. "Why they let you're kind in here, I'll never understand."

"Perhaps to keep a check on _your _kind, my friend. Can't have too many inbreeds running around, can we?"

There was a small outbreak of laughter around the table. The boy's face flushed.

"I'll remember this, you pathetic, filth blooded exuse for a wizard. My family is one of the most powerful and influencial in Europe."

"Right." Gellert sounded very bored. "I'll keep that in mind."

The boy leaned forward, leering. "At least I can be proud of my parentage, half-blood. What was your mother – some muggle prostitute? Or maybe a mudblood?"

Gellert gave him a look of contempt. "Obviously not, idiot. Did you actually excpect me to say 'yes'?" It didn't overly bother him, anyway – he had never known his mother.

"You're father is just as disgusting for being with her...how repulsive. A disgrace to German Wizardry."

Insulting his father was a different matter.

"I highly doubt it. My father's an unspeakable. You're parents have probably never worked a day in their lives."

"They don't need to – we have wealth beyond your wildest dreams. Your family writhes in mud compared to what we have."

Gellert opened his mouth to retort but was interuppted by the headteacher, who had rose without anybody at their table noticing. He glanced at the boy, who shot him a look of undiluted venom.

"Now that we have all enjoyed our meals, I must now infom you it is time for bed. You will be escorted to your rooms. Goodbye and goodnight."

At his last words, the contingent of servants divided themselves up – the majority left the hall, dissapearing down the shadowed corridors, while a small number moved towards our tables.

We pushed back our plush velvet chairs with resounding scrapes and stood up, waiting. The two servants assigned to our group stood their, silent and disturbing with their unmoving expressions, before one gave a pained jerk of his head – more of a spasm in Gellert's opinion – to follow.

They may have moved with an almost surreal stiffness, but they were clearly knowledgable of the building's layout and led them well through the harshly cut stone stairs, with its gothic banisters, and many dark corridors. Gellert, halway down one corridor, felt a foot block his path and just managed to avoid it, his feed landing loudly as he righted himself.

He looked up, eyes narrowing as he surveyed his peers, many of whom were laughing. He though he knew who done it, and his suspicions were confirmed when he boy with the long dark hair gave him a victorious sneer. He felt anger suffuse him, but contained it. There would be another time, he knew.

After very little time since the feast, with only the steps of booted feet on stone to accompany them, they came across an intersection placed in a large chamber – four corridors, right, left, forward and back branching off symetrically.

Fires hung in alcoves, the first Gellert had seen in this cold place, and in the centre of the empty chamber was a large spiral staircase, curving upwards to the heavens like a great wyrm and downwards to the ground.

In response to the students' confusion, one of the servants turned to them. His mouth opened.

"Pureblood quarters are upstairs. Halfblood's are below." His mouth clicked shut. Gellert felt repelled, yet fascinated – the man spoke as though each word pained him. What had been done to them?

Adrian and the majoity of the other students, including the dark-haired boy, stepped forward. Adrian waved as one servant led them to the stairs, and there was a great clatter of boots as they descended, black robes soon dissapearing. After a while, the distant, echoing footfalls ceased, and Gellert, although with others, suddenly felt very alone.

The servant made another pained motion, indcating towards the stairs. Gellert and the others made their way forward, a few of them talking quietly, and when they reached the stars, made to go up.

A hand shot out and blocked them, grabbing one of the plinths that decorated the stairway with a frightening strength. They looked at the servant in surprise, and immediately backed away.

His eyes were bulging, his face red and his body was jerking slightly. Gellert stared at him astonishment. What was _wrong_ with him?

Slowly, his arm pulled back – and Gellert noticed, as the sleeves had pulled back, the bulging green viens and the mottled skin. He felt slightly sick.

"He-..." he spoke with a tremedous, exhaustive effort, his fingers twitching. Then, suddenly, hs brow loosened, his back straightened and his face resumed an artificial, waxy expression of slight discomfort, as though he had ingested something sour. His eyes, however, stared out of they're sockets with excruciating, mind-bent madness.

Gellert and the other students were very quick down the stairs, and although he would never admit it, he was quite glad when the servant dissapeared after escorting them to their modest dormitory on the first floor. The other half-bloods burst into conversation, babbling unshamedly about what they had seen, but Gellert abstained, instead opting to read.

However, he dropped _Charming: An Adept's Guide _on his lap a little time later, finding it unreadable. His mind was too unfocused, too concentrated on what he had just seen. To be frank, it disturbed him. Greatly.

_What's going on in this school?_

Whatever it was, he didn't like it. Consequently, at that moment, Gellert promised himself – quietly, so not to awake his snoring peers – that he would divine its nature; and its source.

Twirling his wand between his fingers, not even noticing the blue and gold flecks that sparked out of its end, he thought of Adrian - _his new friend _\- of the dark-haired boy – _his new enemy _– and of Salowsky – _his first teacher. _

A slight frown creased his brow; a shadow of worry. Would he, as he had dreamt, be great? Talented? Admired? Or just another nameless, meaningless wizard – another useless pest to grace Durmstang's halls, an intellectual delinquent to scoffed at and forgotten?

_Surely not._

But, even as sweep swallowed him, those doubts persisited. Another promise was made – one that, though catalytically, exponentially blown out of proportion by that scarring event, though contrived in a bleary, muddled, sleep-lulled state, would be the cause of so much sorrow, so many deaths and so many farewells.

_I will be known as the most powerful wizard ever to have lived; even if I have to crack the world to prove it._


End file.
